All I Have Left
by Black Rose25
Summary: Don't read if you haven't read BST-it won't make any sense. Holmes takes a wander through his thoughts on Christmas Eve, and where do they lead him? You'll have to see...


This came to me in a sudden burst of inspiration. Now, to answer questions.

I am not dead. But my computer is, for all intents and purposes. I can go on the 'net, but my keyboard port is broken, so I can't type anything. Reviews, fics, that sort of thing. I can go on the computer at school, but they have these annoying child-locks that have, for some reason, blocked I think it's because of all the R rated stuff. And yet, they haven't blocked Interesting… So, while I can type things at school, I can't upload them, and while I can upload things at home, I can't type them. It wasn't until just now that I realized that I could type something at school, email it home, and post it there. I'll be doing a lot of that now. Anyway, I was just thinking: Both Hare and my post-BST fics happen more than a year after she gets sent back, with very little info between the two stories. So, here it is! Plus, I was feeling Holmes-tourture-ie. Have been all week. Oh, Oh! Another thing: I've started a BST forum! It isn't blocked by the school, so I can post there whenever I want! The links: http:bstfans. index.cgi Just take out the spaces after the slashes. Anyway, I know what you came here for… On with the show! Magic computer screen curtain rises…

It was Christmas Eve, and I hurt. I know that there must be some more eloquent way of phrasing it, but that is the most precise. There was a dull, aching pain in my entire body that never differed, save to sharpen and pierce my heart. I would liken it to an eternity of climbing stairs, save that I believe I could endure any circumstances that would put me in such a situation. And, what a situation had put me in my current predicament!

Danm! Never had I known emotion to be such a crippling adversary! Until – Dear Lord, was it already more than two years ago? Well, until then, I had been awash in the blissful sunshine of an emotional wasteland. Aside from the occasional twinge, my heart and soul lay dormant. Oh, that I could escape this place I am now and return, unknowing, to one who has never known passion! Until that day, that fateful hour, that Nona Brown stumbled in on my life. Or rather, I walked in on her…

I grimaced as one of the aforementioned spears of pain seized through me, and I remembered that I would never again taunt her with that first moment of meeting between us. How she haunts me through the ages…

Now, look where I am. I sit, alone, deserted, by a dying fire. A bottle of whiskey sits on the table across the room, but I cannot find it in myself to get up. A pile of unanswered mail is piled on the sofa, and there is no will in me to find out what it contains. Everywhere I glance, I see signs of her. The sofa by the window, where she sat and opened her letter from Scotland Yard, and proclaimed "I Cheated!" How she would have managed to do that on a murder case defeated me. Still open in silent tribute to one who would never finish it, the Martyrdom of Man lay on the bookshelf.

Good Lord… I had to get out of there. Everywhere I looked brought a bittersweet memory that I could neither deny, for the love and happiness attached to it, nor embrace, for the pain. I do not know when the last time I rose from my chair was. Time no longer has any meaning to me. Glancing at the mantle top clock – studiously ignoring the persistent weight in my pocket – I saw that it was just half past Seven. Surely it must be later? No, it just seemed so, to one who had no reason to count the hours, and nothing to anticipate once the time had passed. How many times during those scant months had I glanced at that clock, and urged time to hurry on? Now, I would give anything to have delayed Chronos in his path, if only for a few hours.

In a dead stupor I wandered about the house. I could not tell you now what I did, only that, when I regained what passed for consciousness, I was walking down Baker street, shaved and cloaked for the first time in ages.

Where I was going I knew not. Nor do I know how long I wandered London, eagerly seeking an escape, but not knowing where to look. Without direction, after what seemed like an eternity, but cannot have been more than a quarter-hour, I found myself in front of the opera house. A sudden, wanton urge seized me. Ignoring the throngs of happy winter opera-goers, I walked straight up to the ticket booth and bought a private box seat for the nights' performance. I could ill-afford a box, but I was willing to pay for the privacy. Pocketing my ticket, I went inside and ascended the stairs until I got to the box labeled 04. Opening the door, I found a small, comfortable room with an excellent view, five red seats, and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice by the door. Leaving the champagne, I moved to the far left seat and sat down.

It suddenly struck me how ridiculous my situation was. Here sat I, in a five-person box, at ten times the price of a floor seat, hiding from my memories. I cannot even tell you why I chose the left seat. My life had no meaning anymore. I was just drifting through a sea of events, each one a brief, fleeting moment. Like grains of sand slipping through my fingers, the tighter I held on to memories, the more I lost. Even now: this entire situation seemed familiar, and yet I had never before hit such an emotional low.

The house lights dimmed, and I felt the excited murmur of voices from the floor quiet. All eyes fixed themselves on the stage, and the conductor in the orchestra pit raised his baton. At the Maestro's signal, the curtain rose…

And my heart wrenched in my chest. Many times had I seen this set, but one time I would remember for all eternity… I watched with deadened expression as the opening scenes of Tosca were played out. What cruel divinity, in its wisdom, had placed the night of my excursion on the opening night of Tosca? I felt something warm and damp at my cheek… Lifting my hand, I found it to be tears. I was crying. Headless to my wants, memories of the last time I had sat in this playhouse, and, indeed, this box, came flooding to the surface. I found myself transfixed to the stage, watching as Mengotto confessed his love for Cecchina and the dramatic scene unfolded. Lost from space and time, I let myself become immersed in the music. Italian was neither my forte nor my passion, but somehow I found that love had never been so truly portrayed than what was now laid before me. Strangely unbridled, I let my tears run freely, uncaring, and gave way to my emotions.

Intermission came and went, and, more as an act habit than any conscious thought, I reached in to my pocket…

And drew out a gold-plated pocket watch…

I never thanked her. Nona- I never said thank you for my Christmas present. Somehow, that was the worst thought of all. I know that she knew I appreciated it; I made sure of that. But somehow, the missed moment was what pained me most of all. In the end, it wasn't the moments we spent together that were the worst; it was the moments that we would never spend. I was going to spend the rest of my life with her. I can't remember a time when I wasn't. Raising children, moving out to Oakenstaff, growing old in twin rocking chairs… Everything that I had come to see as meaningless as an outside observer was suddenly filled with purpose and, somehow, a sense of fulfillment. Suddenly, I knew why people would go through such lengths as I have seen for love.

I realize that my narrative has long since lost any coherent thought. Let it be enough to say that, the cast having bid us Adieu, the orchestra packing up their instruments in preparation for the cold and damp outside, I once again guided my way out of the opera house and towards home. The next time I came to myself after drifting in and out of the haze that I was in, I was again in my chair before the dying embers, with a gold pocket watch still clasped tightly in my hand.

Sigh Poor Holmes… But they'll be together again soon. I am gonna go ahead and post this quickly The problem with the school comps has been fixed So if you find any errors, please point them out. Sorry in advance. I don't have time to give this the meticulous look-over I normally give stories. Anyway, off to History, in it's infinite boredome. Ta.


End file.
